It started on the Appalachian Trail (AT). I had been hiking upwards of 20 miles a day. A good hiking pace on the AT is around 3 miles an hour, meaning a 20 mile day would take somewhere south of 7 hours (not including breaks). For long-distance hikers, 7 hours of hiking is fairly enjoyable when you start early in the morning. But if you don't start early in the morning, 7 hours of hiking is much less enjoyable.
I don't remember when my mileage started to drop. But I do remember that it started when I no longer began hiking in the early morning. I remember being tired - too tired to wake up with the sun. I delayed getting out of [sleeping] bag until hours after the sun rose. When I finally did get up, I plodded around the campsite, delaying departure, for as long as I dared. Then, when I started to hike my muscles felt heavy, my feet ached, and my shoulders burned. Trekking up and down the mountain trail, over rocks and roots, through meadow and forest, seemed endless. A mile seemed like ten. Ten seemed like an eternity. I stopped to take naps in the middle of the day. I woke up groggy with many miles yet to go. I would usually push on. My mileage dropped to somewhere south of 15 miles per day. It would have dropped further had I not gotten off the trail to rest at my parents house in Gettysburg.
During the time I spent resting and looking for a cause to and treatment for my illness the fatigue was more bearable, but it did not get better. I had no schedule to keep, so I could wake up when I wanted, take naps when I wanted, lay around when I wanted. But after a month or so of rest and significant medical consultation there was no confirmed diagnosis. I could not lay around my parents house forever. Life had to go on.
To be closer to my girlfriend, I took a job installing solar panels in the north east. Once again, I had a schedule. No more sleeping in. No more naps. I woke up early. I slunk around like a sloth. I climbed ladders and lifted 100 lb. solar panels. My muscles weakened. Lifting and climbing became harder. My muscles felt like were filled with concrete that was slowly hardening. At the end of the day, I could do no more than lay down. Cooking dinner, nearly impossible. Bed time became earlier and earlier. The extra sleep didn't help.
On the weekends, there was a little relief. I could sleep in and take naps. My girlfriend wanted to do things - go for walks, go out to see bands, go hiking, go to the farmer's market, go to the beach, go cross-country skiing. I didn't. I wanted to be immobile. We did as much as I could bare. But our outings rarely lasted more than an hour or two before I was too tired to continue. My girlfriend understood that I was not well. She was gracious and accommodating. I felt guilty. I wanted to give her more. I couldn't.
In January of 2006, my girlfriend and I moved to San Diego. I got an engineering job. The fatigue continued, only now the fatigue in my body was mirrored in my mind. I could think and rationalize and remember, but not for prolonged periods of time. Mornings were best. Afternoons were difficult. My focus would drift. My eyes would become heavy. Working was nearly impossible. I faked my way through it, often saving drafting (mostly mindless) for the afternoon. At the end of the day, I could do no more than lay down. Cooking dinner, nearly impossible. Bed time remained early. Sleep didn't help. Making friends was virtually impossible. I remained at home while my girlfriend went out. I slept while the world moved.
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